


wanna be my baby

by Areiton



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Daddy Kink, Getting Together, M/M, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Panty Kink, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27534067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: When Bucky spreads his now-gloved hands and blinks blue eyes--they’ve never been that blue--at him like he’s waiting for judgement, Steve smiles and nods.“Better,” he murmurs, and turns them back toward their dinner destination, while Bucky leans into his side, warm and comfortable.OR: Steve stumbles his way into a relationship with the bossiest sugar baby in Brooklyn.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 18
Kudos: 488





	wanna be my baby

Bucky is laughing and chattering, his eyes bright and happy while they walk through the city, and his nose is red. 

Just the tip, bright red against his pale skin and dark hair and slate blue eyes. It’s distracting and 

Steve catches his elbow, tugs Bucky into a little shop on the way to dinner. The shop is dark and luxurious--it reminds him of the little tailor that Tony dragged him to before their first charity outing. 

It’s rich and dark, leather coats and elegant suits, and--

“Stevie?” Bucky asks, hesitantly and Steve hums, looking around until he sees the tasteful display of scarves and gloves, and he runs his fingers over one, tightly knit wool so soft it feels like silk. 

There’s cashmere but he’s a traditionalist, and the blue wool will look nice, with the black. He taps the scarf and a pair of leather gloves, slim and lined with soft warm fleece. “These, please,” he says, and the salesgirl hovering a step behind Bucky scurries to box up his purchases. 

“Cold, Steve?” Bucky asks, while they wait, and Steve smiles at him, waiting until they’re outside again, the air cold and brisk and making Bucky shiver in his heavy coat, before he digs the soft blue scarf out and loops it around Bucky’s throat

Bucky goes still, letting him tuck the end into the loop, adjust the fit until he was happy with it and a flush was rising in Bucky’s pale cheeks. 

“Gloves too,” he murmurs, and Bucky tugs them on with careful fingers, while Steve watches, a rush of warm pleasure uncurling in his belly. 

When Bucky spreads his now-gloved hands and blinks blue eyes--they’ve never been _that_ blue--at him like he’s waiting for judgement, Steve smiles and nods. 

“Better,” he murmurs, and turns them back toward their dinner destination, while Bucky leans into his side, warm and comfortable. 

~*~

The problem about life in a future he didn’t ask for is that it’s strange and unfamiliar and more than that--it’s lonely. He has his team, but Natasha and Clint spend more time on missions than they do in country, Thor is off world, and Bruce hides in his lab. 

Tony is friendly, they’ve worked through their initial issues, but there is only so much of his mania that Steve can stand before he needs an escape, needs the reality of the world they fight so hard to save, and he spends hours walking, aimlessly wandering the city and slipping into bookshops and bakeries and small shops that felt like stepping into the past, antiques and art supply stores and a upholstery store that smells just like his Ma’s laundry. 

It’s how he finds Winter’s Brew. 

It’s how he finds Bucky. 

~*~ 

He doesn’t do it often--it’s only--

He has the money, a staggering wealth that makes him queasy sitting in his bank account, growing every month he stays on the rolls as an Avenger, a combination of backpay and a salary for being a super hero, neatly negotiated by Tony’s team of lawyers and Pepper Potts’ demanding smile, sugar and spice and everything he’d loved about Pegs. 

So he _has_ the money, what he never had in the forties, when he wanted so desperately to take care of his Ma. 

And he doesn’t _need_ it, is the thing. 

Because Tony houses the team, feeds and equips them, and he merely has to muse about wanting something before it’s arriving, compliments of JARVIS and Tony both. 

Bucky though--

Bucky is brilliant and _hungry,_ a grad student studying and working on his thesis during late night shifts at the coffee shop. He walks dogs in the morning for the wealthy business men and women who can’t find the time for the animals they love and walks kids home in the afternoons to their drunk mothers and au pairs waiting with toddlers, and he _hustles,_ works too hard for too little.

It makes sense, adds up to Steve, because he has this money he doesn’t know what to do with, besides stuffing a hundred or three into cups of tired eyed vagrants and pouring money into charities that he likes. 

And that’s _nice_ , it is, but--

But there’s something very satisfying about the smile, sunshine bright and strangely shy, when Steve buys Bucky something. 

There’s something sweetly calming about the sight of Bucky in something he bought, like the silk blue dress shirt is a claim. 

It scratches an itch to be _needed_ , when Bucky stumbles into the coffeeshop with a bag full of text books he paid for, when he curls up on Steve’s sofa with a laptop he bought. 

And sometimes--sometimes when he buys things for Bucky, it’s not because Bucky needs it or because he _can_. 

It’s simply for the look, wide-eyed and pleased, a pretty flush in pale cheeks and wonder in slate blue eyes, that Bucky gives him in return. 

~*~ 

They’re crammed into a small booth at a bar that Bruce insisted on, and Bucky’s a warm weight against his side, listing into Steve the more he drinks. He’s comfortable around the Avengers at this point, has spent enough time on Steve’s couch with Tony Stark crashing in without warning that he doesn’t even blink to see Clint and Natasha drop into the bar. 

Bucky is drinking and happy and Steve’s team is around them, all of the people he likes best in the world and it’s perfect, even if Tony’s gaze keeps flicking back and forth between Steve and Bucky and Natash’s watching them with sharp eyes despite the vodka shots. 

When his watch beeps, Steve nudges Bucky. “Time to go--you said you had class in the morning.” 

“Class is stupid,” Bucky grumbles, and Steve laughs softly as he pats at his pockets, his motions growing choppy and desperate until he hisses a curse, and Steve tips his head down, toward Bucky. “What’s wrong?” 

“My fucking--I don’t have my wallet,” he says and his eyes are big and worried and Steve frowns. 

“Where’d you--” 

“I gave it to Peter when we were walking home, so he could get some ice cream,” Bucky says, and Steve plucks the phone he’s tapping frantically against the table, tapping in Bucky’s password before scrolling--

“Peter has it, Buck, you’re fine.” 

“But--” 

Steve shushes him and slides two hundreds off his billfold, tossing them on the table before he stands and tugs Bucky after him 

“I’m gonna help him home,” he tells the team, all of them watching him, and Bucky, Bucky is watching him with those damn wide eyes. “You can’t get a cab without money, Buck,” he says reasonably, and tucks Bucky’s scarf into his coat. “C’mon.” 

He doesn’t think about the way his team watches him walking away or the way that Bucky allows himself to be led. 

~*~ 

He only meant to get a cup of coffee. He didn’t mean to befriend Bucky, or maybe it was the other way, maybe Bucky befriend him, filling the afternoons and evenings in Winter’s Brew with quiet chatter, rambling about his classes and reading bits of whatever sci-fi he had found, or leaning over the counter to show Steve a particularly adorable picture of Alpine. 

He slipped under the edges of Steve’s defences, until he was snug under the skin, nestled where Steve kept the people who mattered to him--the team and his Ma, Peggy and the Howlies--and it never bothered him, really, that Bucky fit there, so effortless and easy. 

~*~ 

He gets the call while he’s on his way to the garage, and answers it with a grin. “Buck, you promised, you can’t back out--” 

“I’m _not,”_ Bucky says, “But you need to stop and buy my hair goop.” 

His voice is pitched with panic and sharp with command it makes Steve’s spine snap straight, and he’s nodding, even as Bucky rambles on, “I’m sending the address, Alpine knocked it in the sink, I’m not going _anywhere_ without my hair done.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I’ll be over with it soon.” 

“Thanks, Steve,’ Bucky breathes, and Steve shivers as a cool wind slices across the garage. 

He gets the goop. 

He gets some leave in conditioner and a mask and some bath salts too, because he thinks Bucky’d probably like it and he’s already _here_. 

And the tiny smile Bucky gives him when he peeks in the bag--that tells him he was right, and sends a bolt of warmth through him that’s stoked a little every time he catches scent of conditioner in Bucky’s hair that night. 

~*~ 

Bucky is normal, is the thing. 

He knows who Steve is, Steve never tried to hide it, but Bucky never seemed to _care_ . He smiled at _Steve_ , listened to _Steve_ complain about mission reports and overpriced fruit and the weird taste of bananas, and he rambled to Steve about school and his sister’s shitty boyfriend and the fact that there was a decent single guy left in the city. 

Bucky is _normal_ and it doesn’t matter if he’s curled up on Steve’s couch in Avenger Tower, or if they’re crashed in Bucky’s apartment fighting over the remote, it’s always easy, comfortable, being with Bucky. 

And if he likes to bring new blankets for Bucky’s threadbare couch, and push a box with motorcycle boots across the table at him before they go upstate for a hike--if he likes to feed Bucky and buy him the little odds and ends that Bucky sees when they’re wandering through the city, it doesn’t mean anything. 

It’s only that Bucky smiles at him, pleased and happy and sometimes--not always, but _sometimes--_ his eyes go half-lidded and his smile goes sly when he says, all smoke and promise, “Gonna have to let me pay you back for this sometime, Stevie.” 

And Steve _aches._

_~*~_

Sometimes they get looks. 

When Bucky smiles at him, sweet and hopeful and Steve nods, and buys a series of books or a set of DVDs. 

When they’re at the movies and Bucky is bouncing on his toes, trying to decide what candy he wants and Steve patiently says, “Get him one of each.” 

When they’re at the Tower and Bucky says, “I love this blanket,” while he snuggles into Pepper’s favorite throw and Steve says, “JARVIS? One in blue, please?” 

They get looks, and Bucky sometimes flushes when he sees the way people watching them, and it _bothers_ Steve, makes him scoot closer, wrap an arm around his broad shoulders and squeeze until that flush and guilty embarrassment fades away and Bucky melts like sugar into his side. 

~*~ 

They’re out with Natasha when it happens. 

Steve’s been shopping with her often enough that he doesn’t even blink when she leads them into a high end lingerie store, just slides a glance at Bucky to make sure he’s ok. 

He’s got a look on his face, wide-eyed, mouth a little parted, a delicate flush rising in his cheeks. 

“Buck,” Steve says, concerned but Bucky’s already drifting away from him, fingers running over a pair of lace panties. 

It’s unbearably erotic, pale fingers against midnight blue lace, and Steve swallows hard. 

“It’s pretty,” Bucky breathes. 

Steve swallows and says, not real sure where it’s coming from, “You--you like this kinda stuff?” 

Bucky flushes, glances at him from under long dark lashes. “Yeah. I--it’s expensive, so I don’t got very much, just a teddy and a couple pair of panties for special occasions.” 

Steve stares at him, and then, so soft it’s barely a whisper, “Show me what you like.” 

Bucky blinks at him, big blue luminous and does as he’s told. 

Later, when he’s home and the image of Bucky’s long pianist fingers brushing reverently over lace and silk and satin is burned into his eyes, he makes an order. 

Two days later, Bucky sends him a picture, a broad chest wrapped in delicate silk the same deep blue as his stealth suit, a pair of boyshorts trimmed in white lace cupping a thick cock that makes his mouth water, and a simple _thanks_ to caption it. 

It’s followed quickly by a text. _Tell me how to say thanks properly?_

If he closes his eyes later, strokes himself to the image of Bucky wearing white lace and miles of pale skin, and eyes wide with gratitude and devotion--well. 

He keeps that thought and the spine-meltingly good orgasm to himself. 

~*~ 

It doesn’t mean anything. 

He’s still Bucky, and sometimes when Steve looks at him all he can think about is the little black lace panties he’s got on under those skin tight pants, but for the most part--he’s just _Bucky._ Beautiful and brilliant and everything Steve didn’t realize he was missing. 

And that’s all Bucky wants from him--just Steve. The friend. The guy who shows up and listens and hangs out when Bucky needs to get outside his head and quizzes him before a test. 

He doesn’t want--doesn’t _need--_ to be kept and cared for, he’s been taking care of his sisters since his dad died when he was sixteen, he’s completely capable of taking care of himself. 

They’re _friends._

It’s only--sometimes he wants to take care of Bucky. 

Sometimes, he wants _more._

~*~ 

He’s sitting in the workshop and flicking through a few tablets he thinks Bucky’d like. “Add that, would you J? And send it over to him?” 

“Of course, Captain,” Jarvis says smoothly and he settles back into the couch, a book already open when Tony’s curious gaze makes him pause. There’s a smile curling at the corner of Tony’s lips, that too knowing gaze sharp and mischievous. 

“What?” he asks, a little self-conscious. 

“I never thought you’d be the one to get a sugar baby, is all. I mean--not gonna judge, I’ve had a few in my day, but--”

“What are you talking about?” Steve interrupts, his ears burning and his stomach twisting, and Tony stills. 

“Bucky bear. He’s your sugar baby. Can’t even blame you, Cap, the boy’s got a mouth made to fuck,” Tony laughs and Steve goes scarlet, flushed with rage and embarrassment, and something in Tony’s gaze softens, just a little. “Shit. J, would you--” 

The phone beeps in his hand, and he scrolls through the descriptions and definitions, the explanations and his fingers tremble, and he doesn’t know if it’s from shock or hungry want. 

~*~ 

It sits in his belly, a kernel of knowledge he doesn’t know what to do with, doesn’t really want, and it makes him anxious, makes him question when he goes to buy something, when he reaches for his card and Bucky smiles, all sweet and happy. 

When Bucky bumps his shoulder and says, “Gonna have to let me repay you sometime.” 

It’s that--Bucky’s familiar throwaway comment one night after they’re leaving a musical he’d been talking about for weeks, when Steve says, “You don’t have to, you know. It’s--I don’t know what Tony said, but it’s not like that.” He laughs, the sound rusted and awkward in his mouth, and Bucky is watching him, eyes big and curious and cautious. “It’s not like you’re my sugar baby.” 

Bucky blinks at him, and when he smiles, it’s smaller, somehow. 

~*~ 

Bucky stops answering his calls and when Steve shows up at work, he’s brusque and distant, almost cold, and it doesn’t make sense, it just--it burns in his chest, this place that’s empty and aching where Bucky should be and he knows that if Bucky is done, if he’s tired of this friendship that doesn’t give him nearly enough--he’s taking care of a seventy year old disaster, for fuck’s sake--that’s fine, that’s Bucky’s choice, that’s something Steve’s gotta respect. 

He does. 

He just--

“I miss you, Buck,” he says, earnest and Bucky stares at him wrapped up in a soft scarf and heavy coat and Steve can remember buying both, and he loves that even as angry as Bucky is, he’s still dressing himself in Steve’s clothes. 

“Fine,” Bucky says. “We can get lunch. But I’m buying.” 

~*~ 

It goes like this--

Things get better. 

But Bucky is prickly now, about Steve buying things for him, almost snapping when he reaches for the bill, when he sends over gifts, when he shows up with food and movies and coffee, and he doesn’t _understand_ because it’s nothing different, this is what they’ve always done. 

It stings--a rejection he doesn’t understand or like. 

It comes to a head on a Saturday morning after Bucky’s semester ends, when he shows up at Bucky's apartment with bagels and coffee and a new handheld gaming system because Bucky worked hard, and he deserved it, even if he’d never get it for himself. 

Bucky stiffens when he sees Steve, laden with breakfast and a shiny red bag dangling from one finger and he pulls back, all stiff faced and closed off and Steve is _tired_. 

“Why won’t you let me spoil you,” he snaps and Bucky recoils. 

That isn’t--

That wasn’t what he meant to ask. 

“Buck--”

“You don’t _want_ me,” Bucky snarls, the momentary paralysis bleeding away and leaving fury in it’s wake. “You _said_ you don’t want a sugar baby. 

“I want _you,_ ” Steve shouts back.”I wanna take care fo you and spoil you and you won’t _let_ me.” 

“Well, I wanna suck your cock and call you daddy, so I guess neither of us is getting what we want,” Bucky sasses back because he’s a brat and he’s beautiful and he’s everything Steve didn’t know he wanted. 

He drops the coffee and the bagels, the stupid little toy his baby will coo over later, and Bucky makes a startled noise as coffee spills across hardwood, and then Steve is kissing him, licking into his mouth while Bucky is clinging to him and whining, hot and sweet and sucking on his tongue. 

Maybe, Steve thinks, before Bucky puts his hands on Steve’s shoulders and levers himself _up_ , maybe they both get exactly what they want. 

~*~ 

Bucky looks beautiful in the pretty panties Steve bought him, sprawled across his silky sheets Steve gave him. 

He looks even better naked and sucking cock, and when he can think again, all he can say is, “Tony was right--you’ve got a mouth made to fuck, baby,” 


End file.
